


The Education of Ianto Jones

by Verasteine



Series: The Education of Ianto Jones [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-31
Updated: 2008-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verasteine/pseuds/Verasteine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto Jones had grown up with a world view of straight couples. Now he knows different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Education of Ianto Jones

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://xtricks.livejournal.com/profile)[**xtricks**](http://xtricks.livejournal.com/) for the beta.
> 
> As far as the content of this story goes, I'm an outsider, so feel free to be critical of the scenarios I painted. Some of the incidents in this story have been taken from real life. The medical scenario happened to a friend. Although I have taken some artistic licence with it, it remains pretty much intact. It infuriated me, and scared me a little.
> 
> This one goes out to John Barrowman, because without his book and that amazing documentary, I never would have looked at the world through different eyes, and this story would never have been. The title is a play on another amazing documentary, called, "The Education of Shelby Knox".

[ ](http://www.flickr.com/photos/verasteine/3962588158/)

\--

_Jack's mouth is on his skin, warm lips burning every inch they touch, Jack having kissed halfway down Ianto's body, blue eyes sparkling with something, something more than lust, something beyond desire. _

Today's world is a world of straight couples. Wherever you look, in the nearest shopping centre, when you're walking across the Plass, when you look at the tourists that sometimes entered the little Mermaid Quay tourist office, it is always a world of straight couples.

Straight couples holding hands, straight couples kissing, straight couples tugging at each other's clothes, brushing hair behind each other's ears, all in public.

Ianto Jones had grown up with that. He'd grown up with a world view of straight couples, first in a quiet house of the outskirts of Cardiff, later in a small town further north. He'd grown up with the perception of man, woman, and child. In his teenage years, he'd learned that was not how _he _functioned. Unconsciously or not, he'd understood that was something best kept to himself. Betrayal was easy in this modern world; by a mate, by a girlfriend, a brother, a teacher. On the rocky road of puberty and adolescence, he'd learned the hard choice was when to keep quiet. He'd skated through it, coming out the other side unharmed, and met the love of his life in Lisa Hallett. It hadn't stopped his natural reticence, encouraged by his teenage years, but it had helped him relax.

When he thought about it, he knew it wasn't much different now. Jack never had, and never would, put any pressure on him in any way. He knew that pressure was of his own making.

Although, not entirely.

Jack never seemed to notice. He didn't notice the car that slowed behind them as he pressed Ianto up against the wall coming back from the cinema late at night, didn't seem to notice the way Ianto tensed against him; Ianto who could see out over Jack's shoulder, who saw the looks on the young lads' faces. Just that car, coasting briefly by, a small moment of slowing down and speeding back up, and Ianto's awareness that it could all end differently; the wrong person, the wrong moment, the wrong time, the wrong street. More likely twenty years ago, certainly, now, political correctness provided an illusion of safety.

_Jack is making his way down to Ianto's left hip, Ianto running his hands over Jack's strong shoulders and into the soft hair at the base of his skull, feeling the strands slide through his fingers. _

Jack didn't notice.

Jack didn't notice the couple at the table next to them, the last time they'd gone to their favourite restaurant. Jack had bounded off to get their coats, eager and grinning, anxious to get Ianto alone. Sorbets for dessert, Jack eating his way through his and then scooping some off of Ianto's, feeding it to him while running his fingers over the back of Ianto's free hand, and Ianto hadn't been above a little subtle, gentle teasing, wrapping his tongue around the spoon and sucking off the ice cream while holding Jack's gaze. He could get lost in Jack's eyes, the myriad of blue shades depending on Jack's moods; icy when he was angry, dark when he was aroused, blue like a summer sky when they were shining with happiness.

Ianto was self-conscious in restaurants, conscious of being in public, but that had nothing to do with this world of political correctness, and everything to do with the good manners his parents, mostly his mother, had instilled in him. He'd made out less in public with Lisa than he did with Jack.

As Jack bounded off to get their coats, dessert at last finished, Ianto stood at the table and felt two pairs of eyes on him from the next one over.

A middle aged couple, he thickening at the waist with glasses and greying hair, youthfulness gone but not yet looking ready for retirement, she with an expensive haircut and what must undoubtedly be dyed hair, a radiant auburn that suited and softened her features, slimmer than he, keeping her figure but dressing more conservatively than she undoubtedly had done twenty years before. Ianto would have wondered if they had children, he would have smiled at them politely, he would've held the door for her and wish them both a "good evening, sir, madam", under any other circumstances.

The two pairs of eyes were fixed on him, and they didn't look away fast enough for him to miss the clear disapproval in _his _eyes, and the compassionate pity in _hers_. They noticed his gaze, dropped their eyes back to their crème brûlées, and he was left feeling faintly embarrassed without knowing why.

_Jack's hand is splayed on his right hip, his tongue licking down the crease where Ianto's groin and thigh meet, making him gasp for breath, every nerve ending on fire. _

Gwen's wedding was when he pushed it all aside, tripping over his personality, trying to just have something for himself. Jack's arms around him, the song of which every word seemed etched on his heart, close enough to feel Jack's heart beating in his chest. It was the moment he forgot about the world, simply forgot it existed, as he drifted and lived only in his own body. Jack, who smiled and kissed him when the song ended; a soft lingering press of his lips half against Ianto's mouth, half against his cheek, sustaining him for far longer than it had any right to.

Coming off the dance floor, fetching drinks and arranging things, picking up the slack at a wedding that shouldn't have gone so wrong but always did -- wedding by Torchwood, Ianto thought later, and laughed to himself -- and he set down a glass of champagne for Gwen's maiden aunt Peg, who looked up at him with gratitude, thanked him in Welsh, and added, "Oh, dear boy. So lost, so misguided."

Gwen knew, somehow, and apologised. He told her it didn't matter, and it didn't, not really.

_Jack is kissing down his left thigh, tongue darting out to lick the back of his knee, and Ianto squirms. _

A trip to the countryside to retrieve some artefacts, Jack grinning and wriggling his eyebrows at him suggestively, leering at him the whole time on the drive over because he managed to manoeuvre things so he and Ianto were going together. Ianto made the reservations dispassionately, but packed with a different attitude, weighing the bottle of lube in his hand and wondering if he's presumptuous. He knows Jack, and packs extra pairs of boxers, and yes, the lube, leaving the padded handcuffs that sit in the drawer next to it where they are.

The B&amp;B was on the edge of the small village, he was nervous enough from being back in the Brecon Beacons, and Jack noticed as they got out of the car, squeezing his shoulder in support and trailing brief fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Jack's closeness is all he needs to relax at any time, and in this moment it was all he needed, too.

The B&amp;B was owned by an old couple, she smiling at them over the rims of half moon glasses, he sitting in the back reading a paper and watching horseracing on a small TV set. She greeted them with a warm smile, and said, "There was a mix-up with your booking. Don't worry, we've rectified it," and to Ianto's dismay handed them two keys, and separate registration forms, then smiled as she added, "We couldn't expect you to share, now could we? And the room was a double, too."

Ianto glanced at the couple's wedding photo that hung behind her on the wall, and said nothing. Jack chuckled softly under his breath as he filled out the form, and snuck into Ianto's room when it was gone ten thirty and the owners went to bed.

_Jack slides back up, hands on both sides of Ianto's body, until he ducks down to kiss the skin of Ianto's abdomen, licking slowly as if savouring the taste. _

Jack was late for the train to London, for a meeting with UNIT and the Queen's treasurers. Ianto handed him the extra tall travel mug of coffee that he'd made just the way Jack likes it. Jack took his first sip, grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with everything Ianto knew he would miss the coming days, and Jack pulled him in for a kiss, mug held away from his body, hand to the back of Ianto's neck, an insistent pressure that he couldn't refuse. Jack's lips were soft, they were always soft, and Jack's mouth was hot, his tongue wet and demanding. Jack often kissed like it would be the last chance he got, investing everything in the contact until Ianto was tingling to his toes. Not like his kisses in bed, those were complementary, sometimes designed to reassure, sometimes to turn him on, sometimes to slow him down. But kisses for the sake of kissing, kisses for the sake of goodbye or hello, kisses because there is no one else around for five minutes and they _can_, those kisses are complete, works of art, Ianto thought sometimes, like Jack invests everything of himself.

The tingle reached the tips of his toes and the top of his head, and his hands came up, left hand splayed on Jack's rib cage under his coat, right hand inside Jack's collar, pressed against his skin.

He never heard the door open, but heard the throat being cleared, and started; Jack pulled away slowly, shooting a grin over his shoulder at Mrs Abernathy as she stood there, toddler on her hip. Jack shot one last glance at Ianto and then turned away, travel mug in hand, coat flying out after him as he bounced down the stairs to make his train.

Ianto looked at Mrs Abernathy and two-year-old Thomas on her hip and wondered if a snippy comment was coming his way at the next tenants meeting.

_Their fingers entwine as Jack finds his hand, turns his head briefly from where he is kissing, and presses a kiss to each of Ianto's knuckles, as if feeling his tension. _

When he went home for Christmas last, he went to church with the rest of his family, aware of the proscriptions and requirements of his faith in the back of his head, but barely paying them any more attention than he had in the past. Until the vicar reminded him sharply, the sermon from the pulpit mentioning the decay of morality in modern society, and as he briefly thought of the Christmas the year before, and John Ellis's death and how distraught Jack had been, he was pulled out of that reverie by stern admonitions about "letting our children see things that we should shield them from."

This was just a hint, but soon was expanded on, not a litany or tirade, but an honest plea to not condone something which was proscribed, the words "unnatural relations" pounding in Ianto's ears as he remembered the feeling of Jack's skin under his fingertips, and the words Jack whispered in his ear the last time they had sex before he left, "I'm gonna miss you."

_Jack resumes his ministrations, slides off Ianto to kiss the skin just above his right hip, breathes out softly and watches Ianto shiver. _

Christmas dinner, with the extended family around the table, candles at every wineglass, dotting the room. His nephews and nieces, his eldest brother Euan's children, for once well-behaved and well-mannered, excited because they're allowed to drink grape juice from wineglasses. Aunt Cheryl is sitting next to his mother, smiling conspiratorially at him as she always had since he was a teenager and she caught him kissing Jason, the boy living next door to her house, and promised at his earnest entreaty not to tell his parents.

His mother giving him a fond smile, glad to have all her children home for once, and he was glad he came, even though being away now for three days, he missed Jack, his voice, the shine in his eyes, the smile on his face. He found he missed Jack most in bed at night, not just for sex, but to be held. Once he'd asked Jack if he didn't sometimes want to see their positions reversed, and Jack had smiled and told him, "No, the longer I can hold you, the longer I know I can keep you with me. It's like holding on against the tide, I know, but I don't want to stop doing it."

Uncle Bert, on the other side of the table, sitting with his father and his grandfather, talking about Welsh politics and football. Ianto listened with half an ear to their conversation, but didn't contribute; even if he wanted to, he worked too many hours of the day to keep track of the subjects they discussed. He heard it nonetheless, calm and said so easily he knew it was hardly meant as an insult.

"He's just a poof, that manager is. Stands there and takes it up the bum, like any old fairy, it's a disgrace. We shouldn't allow it in Wales, we really shouldn't, just kick 'em all out and boot 'em back to England."

It chilled him to ice in his seat, but neither his father nor Bert seemed to think anything of it, no one looked at him, and Ianto realised they probably still didn't know.

_Jack's fingers slide between his thighs, sliding up slowly and teasingly, as Ianto quivers and tenses under his touch. _

Registering with a new GP's surgery was not a task that was hard, just filling out forms and information. He filled in the information and signed the forms for the transfer of his medical records, handing them over to the assistant behind the desk and she smiled at him and said, "Please take a seat, Mr Jones."

He sat and leafed through the obligatory magazines and waited patiently. When his name was called he went in, and the middle aged man behind the desk shook his hand and smiled as well. It was not a problem he wanted to bother Owen with, not a problem he wanted Owen to know about, so this had seemed like the simple solution, solving it easily and quickly.

As he explained the predicament, the mundane questions were asked, all the while being reassured. "A simple test is probably all we need, Mr Jones. Now I just need some information, just routine. Are you sexually active at the moment?"

In his head, Ianto imagined about three lecherous replies Jack would have come up with to that question, but only politely met the doctor's eyes as he replied. "Yes."

"I see." The doctor scribbled on a pad. Then, "What kind of sexual activity?"

There was a reason why he didn't want these questions asked by Owen, and asked by an impersonal stranger seemed easier, and still was, but he felt himself blush as he answered. "Oral sex, anal sex."

The doctor's eyebrows met his hairline, then he replied, "Are you gay, Mr Jones?"

He managed to infuse the term with a meaning that wasn't necessarily negative, but that seemed to imply something about Ianto he wasn't sure was positive either. And the truth was so much harder to explain, and so much harder to put to words, so he answered, "I'm seeing a man at the moment."

The man across the table from him regarded him quizzically, but didn't comment, then wrote on his pad and handed the slip to Ianto. "You better get these tests done then."

Later, when he went over the conversation in his mind, he realised the inference; the consequences of what he'd said, the conclusions being drawn without the questions being asked. When he followed up on the tests with the consultant at St Helen's, he found to his surprise he had been referred for an STD workup that included an HIV test.

He wasn't sure who was more shocked at the revelation; he, who thought he was getting a test for a bladder infection, or the blond woman in the white coat, when she found out he didn't even know what he was there for.

__

Jack stops his ministration and lifts his head, looking at Ianto from under the fringe of hair flopping across his forehead. "What's wrong?"

Ianto is lying back on the pillows, trying not to think too much, and meets Jack's gaze; pupils wide, eyes deep blue, brow wrinkled with concern. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Jack shoots back, and slides up along Ianto's body until he's lying next to him again. "You're holding yourself tense, just like you're... lying back and thinking of Wales." Jack flashes a brief smile to show it was a joke, but Ianto is thinking he's not far off in his assumption.

He brings a hand to Jack's face and rubs a thumb over his cheek. "Sorry. I'm distracted."

Jack's fingers run over that thumb and down his arm, making him suppress a shiver, then Jack leans in and kisses a spot behind his ear before pulling back. "Like I said, what's wrong?"

There is an earnest entreaty in Jack's tone that makes Ianto want to give everything up to Jack. And for a moment he does, rolling onto his side and burying his face against the join of Jack's shoulder and neck, feeling Jack's arms come around him automatically and gathering him close as Ianto shudders. Jack rubs his back and says nothing, then eventually rolls over until they're both lying flat, Ianto half on top of him, one of Jack's arms around his waist, Jack's other hand in his neck.

They lie like that for a while, until Ianto says, "I'm sorry. Sometimes it's all just too much."

Jack lifts his head off the pillows briefly to press a kiss in Ianto's hair, and replies, "What is?"

"Life," Ianto says, and knows he's copping out.

Jack knows it, too, or maybe just doesn't have an answer, and they lie breathing together until Ianto is roused enough by guilt to confess. "People," he amends weakly.

Jack moves them apart, nudging Ianto's shoulder until he rolls onto his side again, Jack's fingers trailing over his hair until his hand rests in Ianto's neck. Ianto reads the concern and worry in his eyes. "Has someone hurt you?"

He shakes his head, reaching out to run his fingers over Jack's bicep. "No, nothing like that. Nothing like that." He rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling, wishing not for the first time that it wasn't so damn hard, loving Jack. Jack's hand rests on his abdomen, the warmth spreading through him, keeping the cold of the hub from seeping in. His eyes on the ceiling, Ianto confesses further. "I had an HIV test. By accident."

He feels Jack freeze beside him, not for all the usual reasons a bed partner would, because Jack can't die, but Jack's voice shakes as he asks. "Are you sick?"

Ianto cuts his eyes to him. "No. Nothing like that," he repeats. He watches Jack breathe out a shaky breath, and finds Jack's hand to squeeze it reassuringly. "No STDs, nothing like that, just a little infection antibiotics have taken care of."

Jack seems to relax, although his hand is still gripping Ianto's tightly, then the rest of what Ianto said seems to sink in, and he says with a strange quality to his voice, "By accident?"

Ianto looks at the ceiling again, and recounts the story in measured tones. He is angry, but he doesn't realise how angry until he's repeating what has happened; how truly furious the assumption has made him, how much his privacy felt invaded when he discovered what apparently couldn't be said to his face.

Jack reaches out and brushes his hair from his forehead, then leans in to kiss a trail from his temple to his mouth. Ianto welcomes the distraction, turning his head to properly kiss Jack back, knowing that he can't change the world they live in.

Today's world is a world of straight couples. Couples that kiss, couples that hold hands, tug at each other's clothing, smile at each other's jokes, and think nothing of licking ice cream of each other's noses.

Ianto Jones had never known it more than he knew it now.

\--  
_finis_


End file.
